Like Something You Wrote
by Aduial1
Summary: A look through Farfarello's eyes, kinda as if he was writing a book.
1. Genesis - In the Beginning

Author: Aduial Title: Like Something You Wrote Plot: Farfarello speaks of himself, his life, and so on & so forth. Rating: +15. May Contain Adult Themes Verdict: 77 / 6.1 WARNING - MAY LEAD TO HOSPITALISATION  
  
In the Beginning - Who I Am and Why I Write  
  
Ecclesiastes 12: 14 Fear God and keep his commandments, For God will bring every deed into judgement, including every hidden thing, whether it is good or evil.  
  
To be honest, I didn't mean for it to happen. I was young, I was alone and afraid, and then everything went wrong. I didn't know who I was, I didn't know where I was, and I didn't know what to believe. That's why I killed my "family".  
  
I believe everything in this world, every person, every experience - can be described with colours. Colours can make you feel different. If I gave you a picture of the desert, the gold sand and gold sun would tell you it was warm - and if I gave you a picture of the mottled grey-blue sky back home in Ireland, you could tell it was cold. I used to paint, back in Ireland. I loved painting angels, their soft wings, soft faces, soft eyes. Painting was hazy gold.  
  
I lived in Dublin as a child. Childhood was like a ribbon of lime green on crisp white paper - there was always a bigger picture, but you never could see it. And it would be black and white when you looked at it again and noticed all the flaws, all the things you never noticed in the beginning. But my childhood went grey, then red, and a fathomless blue. Blue was my favourite colour. It was the sky, it was the water, it was my mind before it happened, when half of me went black - and SAW black when I lost my eye.  
  
I was raised by nuns to have a strong religious belief. I loved everything. Everything was bright, everything was shining, LIFE ITSELF shone on me. I'd look out the church doors after morning mass and I'd see the blotted sun shining, the clouded sky was shining, the damp grass was shining, and even inside the dark cathedral everything shone. Remember that line in the Bible when God looks upon all of his creations, "and He saw that it was good?" It was like that for me. I saw everything around me, and saw that it was good.  
  
I didn't think anything could destroy that illusion, but I was wrong. Hardly any of us ever tell ourselves our entire life is a lie, and then find out it's true. I was Jei, a typical Irish boy who was educated, who was fed, clothed, played, and was teased. Yes, shocking isn't it. They used to tease me. They called me a Ghost because of my pale appearance. It was rather odd how I managed to have fair skin, fair hair, but dark eye- brows and eyelashes. No-one ever pointed that out. I consider myself fairly attractive. The nuns would giggle and describe me as running around like a demon. I was well behaved, just always in a hurry. I would be dressed in my good clothes for Sunday mass, but would come running over hill and dale with twigs in what- not entwined to my mussed hair. The nuns soon became accustomed to it, and came prepared to mass with their wooden combs to unravel my knots.  
  
It's these little details that determine who we are, and how we are. I had a big shock, which changed me. That's why I write. I'm "crazy". Mentally disturbed, they say. It's all a load of jimjar, if you ask me. I admit that I am a sadist - or a masochist, I don't know the difference. I guess that's one reason people still call me a Demon. If someone tells you that pain hasn't at least once given them an erotic feeling, they're lying. To me, pain is the same colour as sex. Red. But not any red, a dark bloody red - somewhat crimson, hazy, suffocative, and tinted with mottled maroon hues.  
  
Bet you think I'm crazy, now? I don't blame you. But the truth is, I love that colour. I can't get enough of it. And when I cut myself, I not only feel it, I can see it. And when I see that colour before me, still warm and creeping, thick, as it rolls slowly down a dead mans neck. I can feel it, I can taste it, and I love it. They hang me upside down so I can't kill myself just to see the blood. Thanks for the idea. I really do want to know what it feels like to know you're about to die. I wonder, when we die, where do we go? What happens? Is there really Heaven, Hell, Purgatory, or Children's Limbo? We might never know.  
  
When you die, do they call you by the name you were born with, Christened with, or died with? If they call you what you were christened as, what do they call you if you were never baptized? There are so many Christian things which I don't understand.  
  
Don't get me wrong, I don't worship the anti-Christ. I'm just. I guess you could say, somewhat of an anti- Christ myself. I would never worship Satan, though I would most like to know what Lucifer was really like. The Light Bearer, the Day Star, son of Dawn. What a rebel.  
  
-------------------- Chapter two is on it's way. *does happy dance* I don't know why, but whenever I read this, it reminds me of Anne Rice's Vampire Chronicles. -------------------- 


	2. Closed Because of Death

Author: Aduial Title: Like Something You Wrote Plot: Second verse, same as the first . Rating: +15. May Contain Adult Themes Verdict: 77 / 6.1 WARNING - MAY LEAD TO HOSPITALISATION  
  
WEGENS STERFGEVAL GESLOTEN - Closed Because of Death -------------------------- Proverbs 30: 17 The eye that mocks a father, That scorns obedience to a mother, Will be pecked out by the ravens of the valley, Will be eaten by the vultures. --------------------------  
  
I'm amazed that Nagi is trusting me with his computer. He warned me not to  
  
drip any blood on the keys. Apparently it'll stain and ruin the keyboard. You learn  
  
something new every day. It's odd how the words are coming to me now. They  
  
just come into my mind and out through my fingers onto the screen. It's like  
  
when you sit in front of a campfire, and without conscious effort, your mind is  
  
suddenly flooded with about a million thoughts and ideas. But there's so many  
  
and they're so jumbled that you can't even grasp one, and all the time you're just  
  
sitting there watching the fire, not even noticing. It's amazing how moments in front of the fire can provide us that feeling of having a sane grip onto ourselves and our surroundings.  
  
Schwarz is a very mismatched group. None of us are anything alike. Maybe that's how we last, you never know. We're always making fun of each others' oddities. Like how Schuldig sits in the shower and waxes half his body without valid reason. I, fortunately, have my reason for that. Having hair is unhygienic. It's a pain when my wounds get infected. That's also why I have 3 showers a day. One in the morning to clean the wounds after the night in a sweaty straight-jacket, one in the afternoon after lazing about, and one at night.  
  
Do you believe in Angels? I always have. I don't mind angels. Lucifer was one, after all. Angels don't have bodies like us, but they're not just mind and spirit. We just never see them because we're not meant to. They don't like the thought of The watchers being watched, I s'pose. My guardian angels are always arguing  
  
about theological matters. They call it "debating". I think they have anger issues. I like that. God wouldn't be happy about them fighting all the time. They let me see them most of the time, but no-one else. I think they're too emotional. One of them (I'm not allowed to say names) keeps weeping. It's most annoying. They stand near statues a lot, so that when I speak to them, people just think I'm lonely and starved for human affection.  
  
I don't like affection. Ruth used to hug me all the time. I liked it then. I needed to feel wrapped in love. But she hugged too tight. Practically suffocated me. Humans always have their faults. But then, everything does. We're all going to hell. None of us are perfect. If you could zoom into heaven after the apocalypse, I  
  
guarantee that all there'd only be God, with Jesus on a throne beside him. Like God  
  
even gave the rest of us a chance. He says that if we love him and love his son and believe that he died for us and all that jimjar, we can go to heaven with him. And THEN he says that only prefect people go to heaven.  
  
This leaves 4 possible outcomes - First, there's children's limbo, where the unbaptized enjoy a natural bliss but are denied the supernatural bliss of the vision of God; then the limbo of the fathers, in which the souls of the just who died before the advent of Christ await their redemption; next is purgatory, a place of spiritual cleansing from minor offences leading inevitably to heaven; and finally the place of punishment of Satan and the other fallen angels and of all mortals who die unrepentant of serious sin.  
  
I think you're lucky if you get to Purgatory. Most people will be there, I think. I know where I'll be. The angels do, too. Satan's probably already got me on his guest-list.  
  
-------------------- Chapter two is done. Hurrah! I recommend reading this while listening to Room 312 from Silent Hill (I think SH2) They're just one of the mp3's I listened to while writing this chapter. Lol. -------------------- 


	3. All Have Seen

Author: Aduial Title: Like Something You Wrote Plot: Three's a lucky number. Rating: +15. May Contain Adult Themes Verdict: 79.8 / 6.1 WARNING - MAY LEAD TO HOSPITALISATION  
  
VIDERUNT OMNES - All Have Seen -------------------------- Proverbs 30: 11 - 14 There are those who curse their fathers and do not bless their mothers; Those who are pure in their own eyes and yet are not cleansed of their filth;  
  
Those whose eyes are ever so haughty, whose glances are so disdainful; Those whose teeth are swords and whose jaws are set with knives to devour the poor from the earth, the needy from among mankind. --------------------------  
  
I know, I know. I still haven't told you how I lost my eye. It was when I first started to see my angels. They told me not to be afraid, that God was with me. I hated being able to see them. To be able to see a higher creation of God. So I clawed my eye into blindness. It was a horrible thing to see the red fill my eye, before, finally, black. Permanent black.  
  
The angels wept.  
  
It wasn't until much later that I realised what I had done. When I saw my face in the mirror, scarred from my hands, which had torn bloody flesh still stuck under their stained white nails. My left eye wept blood for a few days afterwards. A man found me wandering in the street and drove me to the hospital. He thought I'd had a serious head injury - I was scarred all over my face, and talking to "people who weren't even there."  
  
When the doctors said it was inflicted deliberately by someone else, they started trying to ask me questions about my family. I bit one of them on the nose. The others weren't very happy. The stranger had the funniest look on his face. He looked as if he was caught halfway between fainting and throwing up. Nevertheless, I was pinned down on a stretcher-bed (being merely a boy) and given a sedative. When I awoke, I could feel that there was a bandage over my face. My limbs were strapped down as if I were a madman. And the stranger was there with a woman. They said their named were Connor and Caroline Blaike, and that they wanted to help. They asked where my family was. I bit my lip trying to think of how to answer. It bled. My voice gurgled through the blood when I finally replied with, "in Hell." They looked at each other, and then back at me. I looked away, and licked my salty lips. My lip had a dark purple bruise on it for a month after. They were good people, the Blaike's. Connor told me their surname meant "the dark one" and that he was a descendant of the Tribes of Galway. Although that information meant nothing to me then, and still nothing now. He taught me a lot of things, but kept me away from sharp objects. I remember when he was cutting wood for the fireplace and I tried to saw my finger off. He had that funny look on his face again. Caroline's expression dropped into that of horror, and she screamed. It took weeks for the deep wound to heal. I don't think Caroline could take looking at blood. It was about that time that they told me they had a present for me. In a little green velvet box, they gave me my leather eye-patch. It was too big for my face then, and covered most of my cheek. I soon grew into it. But I soon grew apart from the Blaike's. Before the year was through, they were arguing. One night I heard them, Caroline screamed that she couldn't take it anymore, that I had to go, that Connor had to chose between her or me. Connor wouldn't answer for a long time. Then he'd say, "he has nowhere to go." I remember what Caroline said next. She said, "oh yes, he does!"  
  
And she called an institution.  
  
Connor would still come to visit, but he would never ever stand near me. Caroline came once, but she waited outside. I got angry then. One day Connor brought me a bible, saying that no matter what happened, God would always be with me. I screamed at him and fractured my skull by ramming against the wall. I fainted. They said I had a concussion and convulsed. I couldn't remember my name or anything about myself for a long time after that. I could only remember the little things which the nurses reminded me about. They called me Farfarello, after the demon in Dante's Inferno, asking how such an innocent child could be filled with such hatred of God. All I knew after that was how much I hated God, that my name was Farfarello, that I only had one eye, and that I didn't feel pain. It was an amazing thing to discover. Or rediscover. My mind became preoccupied, and self mutilation a fetish. I adored watching warm salty liquid flood in the wound, and then spill down my body and limbs like a crimson snail trail over my white alabaster flesh.  
  
I would wound myself however possible when I wasn't in my straightjacket. But as soon as I did, the jacket would go straight back on. It was such an isolating feeling. They soon put me in leg restraints after several more head-on collisions and attempted flights of escape. I was in a muzzle for a while, too. But that went after a while. My tongue biting habit was staining the steel mesh and metal on the muzzle, causing it to rust and stink of old blood.  
  
The asylum wasn't a barred or barbed prison to me. It was a place of loneliness, and constant thought. It was my own Purgatory. And still the angels wept. They fought about trivial and universal matters as if they had the same effect on the world. I kind of agree with that theory, though. So many big things become of little things, and vice versa when large matters fall to nothingness. Like Lucifer, only an archangel, the choir of angels ranked 8 of 9 in importance, and he rebelled and became Satan. And on the other end of the scale there is the fact that our sun will die in 5 billion years, destroying the balance of our solar system and swallowing Mercury and Venus. As significant in the universe, as a candle going out to us. Did you know that in ancient times, Lucifer was the name for the planet Venus? I'm full of these strange facts. The angels bring them up sometimes, complaining that all the world is against God, and that the world would be a better place if everyone just did what he told them. Most of the bible is spent talking about Hell, and most of what Jesus talked about related to evils, sins, and Satan. It's almost as if the Devil has become all-encompassing.  
  
-------------------- Whoohoo! I'm on a winning streak! Chapter three's done! Hurrah! -------------------- 


	4. Some things I could use

Author: Aduial Title: Like Something You Wrote Plot: Un, deux, trios, quatre. Rating: +15. May Contain Adult Themes Verdict: 79.8 / 6.1 WARNING - MAY LEAD TO HOSPITALISATION  
  
. LO QUE HACE FALTA - . some things I could use -------------------------- John 8: 44 You belong to your father, the devil, and you want to carry out your father's  
  
desire. He was a murderer from the beginning, not holding to the truth, for  
  
there is no truth in him. When he lies, he speaks his native language, for he  
  
is a liar and the father of lies. --------------------------  
  
I once dreamt that I was visited by a Seraph. The highest being in the choirs of  
  
angels. It was an amazing sight. A sexless celestial being, with six wings; two over  
  
its eyes, two over it's feet, and the others it used to fly effortlessly. He held a  
  
burning coal in his hand, and he called,  
  
"Holy, holy, holy is the Lord Almighty;  
  
the whole earth is full of his glory."  
  
And it was almost as if he was love personified. He almost emanated light, and  
  
ardour, and purity. I woke up screaming. My angels tried to calm me. They said  
  
"You will be ever hearing, but never understanding; you will be ever seeing, but  
  
never perceiving; your heart has become calloused, you hardly hear with your  
  
ears, and have closed your eyes." Then they hid their faces behind their hands,  
  
and wept. I screamed and screamed, until my throat felt dry and stung.  
  
My angels are too emotional.  
  
Nagi's very emotional, too. He got upset when I killed Tot. Tot could've sent me  
  
mad if I wasn't "mad" already. She was whiny, and she talked to a pink bunny.  
  
Hard to believe she's not that much younger than me. I hate rabbits. Especially  
  
at Easter.  
  
Today, I'm in a "bad mood." That's what Crawford calls it. I hate Crawford.  
  
Schuldig said I was a "sex driven maniac." I didn't understand at first, then he  
  
added, "sex deprived." Hate Schuldig. Nagi's not so bad. He let me use his  
  
computer, and he doesn't tease me. He even helps me disinfect my knives  
  
sometimes. I think he's the only one who isn't somewhat scared of me. Schuldig  
  
doesn't read my mind, he's too scared of what he might find. Maybe he's Christian.  
  
I really hate Schuldig.  
  
  
  
Brad says it's late. It's only 12:30, I don't know what he's complaining about.  
  
Maybe he has work to do tomorrow? I hope I get to kill someone again tomorrow.  
  
I wish I could kill Tot again - I liked watching her fat bouncy head drop back on her  
  
neck, her wide eyes rolling in her head, lips moving but making not a sound. Hah.  
  
My favourite murder would be Ruth, though. That stupid God's bitch deserved it.  
  
I also enjoyed killing "Masafumi". The sound his body made when it hit the floor  
  
was amazing. Almost like a fish; when you spear it, wrench it off the spearhead,  
  
and let it fall to the ground. A squishy flop-thud sound. Haha. Music to my ears.  
  
-------------------- Wow, I'm amazing myself. And scaring myself. O.o! I think I'll stop now - unless I can find something more to write about. AND REMEMBER - L'HABIT NE FAIT PAS LE MOINE (it's not the clothing that makes a true monk) -------------------- 


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